Scream My Name
by ChasingPerfectionTomorrow
Summary: Jassaren Lavellan is many things; an elf, a liar, a cheat, and a professional smart-ass, but a hero is not one of them. She was just the wrong city elf in the worst place at the least opportune time. She doesn't want to save the world, she just wants to retire to the South Reach somewhere and eat frilly cakes till she eventually dies. An attractive ex-Templar may change her mind.
1. Curiosity Killed the Cat

This is it guys, this is the big one. I've got chapters of this crap already written, so even if everyone hates it, I'm still writing it. SO THERE!

I've finally managed to condense all my obsessive Dragon Age feels into this one fic. So I give you Jassaren (pronounced Jazz-a-wren, just in case anyone cared) and I fully plan to have her take you on a kickass journey. This is -not- meant to be a rehashing of the events in the video game, because boring. I will take the main plot and follow it, mostly, with my own nefarious purposes. This will also be eventual Cullen/Inquisitor but I plan on taking my time with this fic so it may take some chapters to get us there - but it's still definitely a romance centric piece of work, so have no fear.

Hey, I own nothing. All hail BioWare.

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><p><span><strong>Prologue: Curiosity Killed the Cat<strong>

_Breathe and balance and love, I was born on the scene_  
><em>Now it runs in my blood, yeah, you know what I mean<em>  
><em>When I'm dead and gone, will they sing about me?<em>  
><em>Dead and gone, will they scream my name?<em>  
><em>Scream my name<em>

_Wake up, guard up, and I'm bored_  
><em>Night runs with guns, too hardcore<em>  
><em>Don't dare to care about someone<em>  
><em>I'm dirt, I'm ice, is that wrong?<em>

_Love it when I'm play-pretending_  
><em>When I can take bullets to the heart<em>  
><em>Fuckin' up my happy ending<em>  
><em>But I can take bullets to the heart<em>

_Breathe and balance and love, I was born on the scene_  
><em>Now it runs in my blood, yeah, you know what I mean<em>  
><em>When I'm dead and gone, will they sing about me?<em>  
><em>Dead and gone, will they scream my name?<em>

_Scream My Name, by Tove Lo_

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><p>"Andraste's left tit, its bloody cold!" Jassaren grumbled, her breath condensing and glittering in the frozen air like fine lace. Dane crouched down beside her beneath the archway and tugged his patchwork cloak tighter about him. His nose was bright red and poking out ostentatiously from beneath his hood, practically <em>begging<em> to be pinched. Jassaren managed to resist the temptation. Barely.

Above them, casting a long and oppressive shadow, sat the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

"You know Jass, as much as I usually enjoy your wonderful wit, I'm not sure this is the _best_ place to be throwing around blasphemies." The other elf said seriously, but a smile tugged at his lips.

Jassaren rolled her eyes, rubbing her gloved hands together. Why hadn't she packed more scarves and another jacket? Three of each just was _not_ cutting it. She couldn't understand who would want to live in such shitty conditions. A bunch of pretentious idiots, obviously.

"If the Maker hasn't struck me down by now, I'm not sure he's going to. Besides, he knows more about Andraste's tits than anyone, _Maker's Bride_ and all that."

Dane snorted and lifted his eyes skyward, checking the passage of the sun. He was getting impatient. So was she. The worst part of any job was the damned waiting.

"I think the Chantry is as full of shit as much as the next lowly, suffering elf, but I think even _I'm_ offended."

Jassaren grinned and rocked back and forth on her heels to keep her circulation flowing. It wouldn't be long now.

They'd been hiding beneath the old ruins of a long forgotten path for several hours, waiting for the signal and slowly going numb in the snow. Jass couldn't recall a time in which she had been more miserable. Typically she stayed in the nice warm confines of various cities in Orlais, but this was a special occasion. Apparently she was willing to suffer through anything –even freezing to death- for the right price. And by whatever Gods_ did_ exist, the price had been _very_ right. The sort of right that might let a little elven girl retire somewhere without too much notice. Assuming she could get Briala off her back long enough to make a run for it, but she'd worry about that particular mountain when she came to it.

From the highest tower's third window a pattern of light flashed. Jassaren felt a trembling of nerves and excitement swirl in her belly and Dane nudged her eagerly. She'd been in on some big jobs in the past, but nothing like this. This was the kind of job that if anything went wrong, it wasn't a prison sentence they were facing, but a swift and bloody execution. Maybe on sight. There were going to be an _awful_ lot of Templars in there.

"You ready for this?" Dane asked, and she could tell he was nervous too.

Jassaren grinned, "Come on, let's go see how _divine_ the Divine _actually_ is."

Dane groaned, "You're not going to steal a pair of her small clothes like that one time with the Duchess of Lydes, are you?"

"Hey, some people collect coins or stamps, I collect important ladies underwear."

"You're sick, you know that?"

Jassaren slapped him on the back, knocking him into the snow and rose fluidly to her feet, "Last one to the Temple buys drinks!" She took off down the rise, as light and agile as a feather, leaving almost no trace behind.

* * *

><p>"Well fuck me," Dane breathed in awe.<p>

"I'll pass, thanks," Jassaren replied absently, more than a little impressed herself. She'd her fair share of experience with nobles and important people; both legally and well, _not_ so legally, but this was something else.

"All of the Chantry's most important people are here," he muttered, shifting his weight slightly along the rafters. Below them, the main hall of the Temple stretched out like a winding golden snake, crowded with people in robes and glittering suits of armor. No expense had been spared to house one dead prophet's ashes, that was for certain. Jassaren wondered how many people had gone hungry just so that the floor tiles could be lined in silver _and _gold. If Andraste _had_ been the Prophet of the Maker, Jassaren had a feeling the long dead woman would not have appreciated such… excess.

"Not to mention Templars, Mages and Wardens." She said bitterly. She was starting to lose her nerve. She hated plans that hinged on everything going _exactly_ right because nothing _ever_ went exactly right. There were far too many people down there with pointy objects to stick in her, and this time, no pun was intended.

"Come on," Dane nudged her, and they crept along the rafters, following the train of guests and diplomats as silently as a pair of spiders.

Eventually the hall ended, and so did the rafters. The hall expanded into a massive cathedral that's entire ceiling was a fresco depicting Andraste's famous journey. Most of the guests were filing through a door at the opposite end of the hall. Fortunately, a wooden walk way had been built around the huge room for the window washers and painters. Jassaren was grateful; she didn't relish the idea of climbing across frozen rooftops a hundred or more feet in the air with the wind trying to snatch her up like a leaf. At least if she fell inside she might take some overstuffed noble with her.

"Hey Dane, look pathetic and subservient. Oh. _Wait-_"

"Ass," he said, and pushed his hood aside and checked his stolen outfit of plain cotton robes, typical of the elves that served at the temple. Useful garments for hiding knives and weapons, it turned out. Similarly dressed, Jassaren tugged a bit of her dark hair loose so it shadowed one side of her face, and hunched her back, making herself as small and easily forgotten as possible.

Jassaren drew out a pair of rags and handed one to Dane who pulled a face. Quietly, they began a halting path across the rickety walk way, rubbing clumsily at dust free windows.

"I wonder how many elves fall to their deaths every year repainting Andraste's toes." Jassaren remarked lightly when they were more than halfway across the room. She stopped a moment to eye a bit of stained glass critically then licked her thumb to scuff away an imaginary bit of dirt.

"You're _really_ not helping," Dane said dryly. He didn't like heights much, or at all, a fact which Jassaren found endlessly hilarious. She could see little beads of sweat standing out on his pale brow like little glorious jewels. He gave her a look like he wanted to hit her but was clearly unwilling to relinquish his death grip on the railing. She graciously moved on, picking up their pace a bit.

Luck remained on their side. The walkway curved around and ended in a hidden door that allowed for easy passage between chambers for cleaning. The small hallway, barely tall enough or wide enough for one elf to pass through, was deserted and they made their way quickly through it. There were several doors on the way and Dane peaked through each of them carefully, shaking his head and then hurrying on. He peered through the last door and nodded. They removed their robes and hid them in a nearby bucket. If everything went as planned they would come back here and put the robes back on and make a quick and easy escape, skipping merrily off into the sunset.

Both of them were dressed in tight black leather that bristled with the paraphernalia of their craft –daggers, poisons, smoke bombs and lock picking tools. Jassaren tugged up her mask and secured her hood around her head, tucking her hair primly back in place. They took turns smearing eye paint across the bits of bared flesh that remained.

"You see him?" She whispered as he eased the door open again.

"Yes."

"The Divine?"

He shook his head, his eyes troubled. Strange, the Divine should have joined the meeting by now. Gathering the Templars and Mages for peace talks wasn't the kind of important party one wanted to be fashionably late to.

"You keep an eye on the dear Duke and I'll see if I can figure out where she's at."

"Just don't steal the small clothes _off_ her body, Jass," Dane muttered to her back as she crept into the dimly lit meeting chamber and carefully made her way across a slim edging in the wall. Dane was going to _hate_ it and the thought made her smile deviously.

Below her was a massive table, inlaid with red velvet and gold. More than forty people sat around it, muttering to their neighbors and generally glaring at everyone else. The atmosphere was very tense and she wasn't sorry to leave it behind. Mages and swords made her nervous, particularly when they were all in the same room. Once out of sight, and hopefully ear shot, she jumped soundlessly to the ground and ducked behind a statue to quickly avoid a few passing guards. She released a carefully held breath and gathered herself, running over the map she'd memorized in her head. _Down the left hall, up a flight of steps, then outside, climb to the second window on the right –bam, the Divine's private chambers. Easy as Nug Pie._

Another breath, and she made her way quickly down the hall and up the servant's stairwell, sticking close to the shadows. There was a close call when a female servant rounded a corner, carrying a huge stack of linens, but she managed to duck quickly around her as the woman hummed the chorus of a bawdy tune. One of Jassaren's favorites, actually. On the next level, she listened carefully for a moment before easing open a shuttered window and looking down. She swallowed thickly. Jassaren might not have shared Dane's fear of heights, but that was a _long_ way down. The gray stone tower scaled downward to meet the body of the mountain and from there dropped into oblivion, wisps of mist and cloud shielding the river that she knew lay below.

"Think of a little cottage by the beach, Jass, and more frilly cakes than you can eat," she muttered to herself and eased through the window, looking up now instead of down. She scooted along the window ledge, putting herself out of sight, and removed two hooked blades from her hips. There were plenty of hand holds, thank the Gods for little miracles. Taking a deep breath of frozen air and thinking of warm beaches and clear oceans, she leapt for the first crevices. Her hook caught at the stone and her feet found purchase. Her arm strained but her grip was firm and she began her climb, pretending she was only a dozen feet up instead of several hundred.

Jassaren was so focused she nearly missed the second window, but she looked up a moment before she stuck her blade through shuttered glass.

"Now for the hard part." The wind snatched up her grumbling and howled insistently in her ears.

She pulled herself up onto the _thankfully_ wide window sill and pressed her knees onto either side for stability. Reaching into her belt, she extracted a special diamond tipped blade attached to a circular pivot. A swindling dwarf had crafted it for her. It had cost her half a month's pay but so far it had been worth it. She leveled her device and began cutting with swift, practiced swirls. Making sure she was steady, she braced her shoulder against the frozen wall and pulled hard with her hands. The glass came away with ease and she breathed a sigh of relief. Reaching in she lifted the latch, then rose to stand to one side as she pushed the window past her. Inching the shutters open, she was pleased to find the small antechamber empty and dark. Desperate for solid ground, she slunk inside, closed the shutters, and crouched in one corner, listening intently.

She heard raised voices across the room and behind a thick door, and hurried toward it. Peering through the keyhole she saw only darkness and the vague outline of furniture. She checked the handle -locked, of course, and with a sigh took out her pouch of picks. Squinting at the lock, she carefully selected the right size and curve then tucked the pouch away. She clenched a dagger between her teeth, just in case.

A few quick turns, a little jostling, a few choice curses, and the latch clicked free. Smiling in triumph, she stepped inside the room.

The realization that she hadn't run into a _single_ guard struck her suddenly and she stood up straight with a terrible chill of foreboding. A moment later a shrill scream rang through the room.

"Why are you doing this!" A female voice demanded, laced with pain and fear. This was followed by another scream and lower voices, dark and malicious sounding, but too soft to hear.

"Someone please! Help me!"

Jassaren froze like a halla caught in a hunter's stare. _Run, turn around and run, _her mind screamed at her as another cry of agony rent the air.

But she was moving across the room and down a short flight of steps before she could stop herself. Curiosity had always gotten the best of her, and, she told herself, if someone important was about to be murdered, Briala would want to know. Dane could handle the Duke, she reasoned -this could prove to be more useful than some assassinated noble. She ignored the persistent feeling of _wrongness_ in her gut and pulled herself up into the rafters. Moving down the dusty beams, she cleared another short hallway to the tune of more dreadful screams, each one like a knife twisting in her back.

The hall ended in a small meeting chamber, utterly dark but for a foul red and green glow, at the center of which hung a figure. Fear tightened in her belly and Jassaren hugged the wall, knowing she had made a terrible, terrible mistake.

The figure was none other than Divine Justinia, her fine Chantry robes shredded and blood stained. Her wrinkled face was battered and her eyes filled with raw terror. She was being held in mid-air by a creature so terrifying, Jassaren's mind nearly refused to comprehend it.

It bore the semblance of a man; with a stretched face and burning eyes, but the resemblance nearly ended there. His chest was bare with flaps of skin stretched over metal and glowing red crystal that also jutted from his face and arms. His fingers were talons, black and cruel, and between them he held an orb that glowed red and green alternatively. The stink of magic was thick in the air, acidic and hot, burning the back of her throat. A circle of others, clad in the Gray Warden's colors, encompassed the horrific scene.

For a moment Jassaren thought they were there to help the Divine, but in the next moment one of the Wardens stepped forward and hit her with a wave of red tinged magic that set the woman screaming again.

"I will bring a new age, a better age. The time of your God is over. With you as sacrifice, I will claim my rightful seat as the _only_ God of Thedas." The creature spoke and its voice was like children screaming and all her worst nightmares combined. She cowered against the wall, fear freezing her blood and numbing her limbs.

"You're mad!" the Divine accused rather pointlessly.

The Warden again directed a bolt of magic at the Divine, but she twisted at the last second and it missed, heading straight for Jassaren instead.

Without thinking, she cried out in surprise and dove out of the way to the carpeted floor below. Realizing she had just officially sealed her own death, she came to her feet with her long daggers in hand. The finely sharpened blades quivered meekly before her as she met the shocked faces of everyone in the room. The gleaming orb, which the creature had apparently dropped in surprise thanks to her sudden and timely arrival, was rolling toward her. The creature roared it's furry and lurched after it, but Jassaren –driven by something she could only describe as pure stupidity- dropped her knives and made a grab for it. Her fingers closed around the object and pain, white hot and alive, laced up her arm and into her blood.

She screamed like her soul was being torn from her, like she would never _stop_ screaming and it was loud and endless in her ears. The pain was so intense, so visceral, it made her forget everything. Where she was, why she was, _who_ she was.

Then the entire world exploded and there was only darkness.


	2. Dead Air

A/N: This chapter will bring us to a place that will allow me to branch out and follow my own plot line. It's a long one folks, but I hope everyone can appreciate Jassaren's character development. She's not written to be the perfect, do goody hero, so keep that in mind. As a means of explanation, just to forgo any confusion, Jassaren is a city elf who was formally a member of The People but through a series of mysterious events, now works for Briala.

I own nada enchilada.

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><p><em>I will never believe what they say<em>  
><em> There is a strength in enduring<em>  
><em>They never speak for themselves<em>  
><em> We are disappearing<em>

_You will be all that I seek_  
><em> In a twisted light<em>  
><em> I would live inside you<em>  
><em> Words will be all that I keep<em>  
><em> In an open space<em>  
><em> They would live inside you<em>

_We hold up to an idea_  
><em> And we'll fight what we can't see<em>  
><em> We just hold up to an idea<em>  
><em> We keep going till we can't hear<em>  
><em> Dead air<em>

_This is a call to your arms_  
><em> To take on mind over matter<em>  
><em> Replacing fist over fist<em>  
><em> We are disappearing<em>

_Dead Air, by CHVRCHES_

* * *

><p>Jassaren was having some pretty messed up dreams.<p>

She was running, running, endlessly running. Across rocky slippery terrain, through puddles of noxious goo, past skeletons and ruins, then up a flight of steps. _Steps_, endless _steps_. Everything hurt. Everything burned. Something was skittering after her in the dark, creeping at her heels, something deadly and terrifying.

A bright light in the shape of a woman led her forward, a beacon of hope in the darkness.

_Don't stop, you mustn't stop,_ an insistent voice sang in her ear. She wanted to tell it to shove it, to let her just die already because running up steps for an eternity didn't seem very promising, but she kept going. Kept running, kept climbing. She figured she was just too stupid to know when to give up. She always had been.

_Almost there, almost there. _

Something green and creepy loomed above her. It wasn't exactly a comforting destination, but when she glanced back she nearly collapsed in renewed terror. Spiders, as big as horses, were racing after her with fangs as long as her forearm that dripped with venom.

She stumbled, caught herself, and made a last final mad dash. The glowing woman turned and extended a hand to her. Her features were indistinguishable, sort of hazy, but something about her made Jassaren feel almost safe.

_Almost there, almost there._

Just as she felt the sickening brush of spindly legs against her back and legs, Jassaren's fingers closed around pure warmth. For a moment bright light encompassed her, held her weightless, then the darkness returned.

The nightmare had only shifted. The darkness condensed, pressing upon her till she almost couldn't breathe.

"You asked for this girl," a terrible and familiar voice croaked near her ear, rank breath choking her, assaulting her.

"You should have listened. You should have been a good girl just like your mother told you." Slick, oily hands pawed at her, touching and scrapping, breaking her apart. She cried out but her voice was muffled and soundless. She tried to fight, she tried to push the hands away, but they didn't stop. They never stopped-

"Cassandra! Restrain her!" A woman's voice, angry and frustrated, threaded through the nightmare, undoing the tapestry of her terror a strand at a time.

"I'm _trying_ Leliana, she's stronger than she looks!" Another woman's voice, her accent thick, made the hands stop groping and hurting. The accent was familiar but her mind was a mess, a jumble of thoughts and images like slippery fish in dark water.

Feeling began to creep back in and she wished it wouldn't. Everything _hurt_, but her hand in particular. It burned dully, insistently, and she groaned.

"I think she's coming to," said the first woman and Jassaren managed to crack an eye open.

A face danced blurrily above her and she blinked sluggishly. Angry gray eyes, encased in a pale and scarred woman's face, glared down at her accusingly.

"Why did you do it," she demanded her voice thick with some emotion –grief Jassaren thought dimly- and the weight of her accent_. Nevvarran_, her mind supplied helpfully. "Why did you kill her!?"

The woman gripped Jassaren by her shoulders and shook her, sending waves of dizzying pain through every muscle in her body. She groaned and whimpered, and wished they would just kill her already. Her mind fought to piece things together but there were only bright flashes of strange images and faces she didn't recognize.

"Cassandra!" The other woman shouted angrily, "That is enough! We need her cooperation. She's of no use to anyone if you strangle her to death!"

The evil black haired woman dropped her like yesterday's trash with a disgusted noise and paced across the room. Another woman, Leliana she assumed, with red hair and light eyes took her place, crouching near her on the cold stone floor. Jassaren realized she was in some sort of prison, flickering torch light gleaming off iron bars and slimy floors. Something had gone terribly wrong, something important, but she couldn't remember what. She recalled _why _she'd been sent to the Temple, had a few vague flashes of being inside and creeping in the shadows, but that was it.

_Dane. Where is Dane?_

"Where am I?" She croaked and tried to situp. Her elbow wobbled and gave out beneath her.

"Here," Leliana said and pressed a cool vial to her lips and cradled her head gently, "Drink this." Jassaren tensed, wondering if it was some kind of poison or truth serum but the smell of Elfroot was distinct. She drank the healing draught and appreciated its potency as it chased the worst of her pain away. She sagged into the floor with relief.

"Water," she begged, her throat raw and painful. A glass was held to her lips and she drained it twice. The woman then helped her to sit up, leaning her against a cold stone wall. She didn't notice the shackles around her ankles until they scrapped across the floor. With the healing draught coursing through her veins, she now suffered from something akin to a very bad hang over.

Jassaren searched the woman's face and glanced at her partner's back as she passed outside the cell, trying to understand what in the bloody hell was going on.

"What happened? Where am I?"

Leliana stood and crossed her arms over her chest. "You are in Haven, and we were hoping you could tell _us_ what happened?"

"I don't remember, I can't-"

"Isn't it obvious?" Cassandra cried, whirling. She was dressed in dented armor with a heavy sword at her side, which she looked ready to stick in Jassaren at the first opportune moment, her fingers flexing dangerously on its hilt. "She killed the Divine and all those people. Just look at that mark on her hand! Not to mention we found her_ bristling _with weapons, clearly skulking about to assassinate the Divine and Maker knows who else! What more proof do we need!" Her voice caught and she pressed a fist to her mouth, fury and grief warring for domination on her strong features.

Jassaren's hand chose that moment to catch on fire and she screamed in alarm as wild green flames licked up her palm and over her forearm. Pain wracked through her, scorching what remained of the healing draught from her veins like dry kindling. She clutched her hand to her chest, sure she was dying, but then the pain passed and the flames receded, leaving her with only a growing green mark on her hand.

"What is this!" Jassaren cried, "What's happening to me!"

"You clearly tired to summon something from the Fade and it backfired!" Cassandra accused stomping toward her as she started to draw her sword. There was murder in her eyes.

Leliana's expression was cool and calculated as she lifted an arm to block her. "We can't know that, and we've confirmed that she is no Mage. You heard what Solas said-"

"I don't care what that _Apostate_ has to say-"

"The breech must be closed! " Leliana all but screamed in her companion's face, her careful mask fraying at the edges. Both women were frightened, angry, confused. What in the world had happened to her? And why couldn't she _remember?_ "If you have a better plan," Leliana continued, obviously struggling to reign herself in, "I'd love to hear it!"

"Please," Jassaren begged, "What is going on!"

Leliana turned toward her, "Who are you? Why were you, a Dalish elf, at the temple? Surely you can recall _that _much."

Jassaren nearly renounced her claim out right, she was _definitely_ no clan elf, and then remembered the vallaslin tattooed across her face. Briala had insisted she get them a few years back as part of her work with The People. Jassaren had hated it and everything it stood for, but she hadn't had much say in the matter. It had been a very long time since she'd had _any_ say in matters concerning her own life.

"I uh-" she started then cleared her throat, pulling herself together. Considering she had no idea what was going on, she needed to play this very, _very_ carefully.

"My name is Jassaren. My clan was… interested in what the humans would decide at the gathering. After all, the war between the Mages and Templars concerns everyone," she lied, attempting to look as innocent and… _elfish_ as possible.

"Lies!" Cassandra snarled but Leliana held her at bay, her face impassive.

"Which Clan? There are not many in this area that would make such a trip."

Jassaren hesitated and masked it with a wince of pain. _This_ lie would be easier but she hated to tell it. It rankled at a deep wound, one she tried to pretend didn't still exist but that would rip open from time to time. "Clan Lavellan," she said, shoving past unpleasant memories. It wasn't entirely a lie, she'd once been a member of The People, but that was a long, long time ago. And she also had it on good authority that the Lavellan actually _had_ taken to wandering in the North. The best lies held the most truth.

Leliana's eyes narrowed before she gave a slight nod, as if this was confirming something she already knew. Cassandra made a disgusted noise but backed off for the moment, scowling at her from between the bars of her cell. _If looks could kill, I'd be dead a thousand times over._

"Please," Jassaren said again, "What happened?"

"Do you remember anything, anything at all?" Leliana pressed.

Jassaren looked down at her hand. It pulsed painfully, glowing eerily, and every heart beat carried the pain further and further up her arm. "I remember a woman," she muttered, hardly aware she spoke, "She… she was _glowing_, she led me through, _out_. There were stairs, and darkness. Something chasing me, something dark, evil-"

She broke off and shook her head, aware she sounded insane. Leliana sighed deeply but her expression was contemplative. She and Cassandra exchanged a heavy glance, some mysterious knowledge passing between them.

"You are dying," Leliana said with little preamble. "The mark on your hand is spreading. One of our Mages did what he could to slow its progress but it will not last long."

_Oh, awesome. No big deal then_. Jassaren sneered internally and let her head fall back against the wall with a despondent thud.

"_But_," Leliana continued and came to crouch near her again, all but forcing Jassaren to meet her piercing stare. The woman held a thousand secrets behind those eyes, she saw. Jassaren knew enough of secrets and dark dealings to recognize a kindred spirit when she met one. "He believes that if you were to _seal _the Rift beneath the breech that the mark on your hand might stabilize."

Jassaren sighed, "You realize that none of this makes any sense to me, right?"

"Show her," Cassandra said, her expression not quite so angry or murderous, but no less guarded.

Leliana gave Jassaren a quick look over, obviously not convinced that their battered prisoner could handle moving anywhere.

"What choice do we have Leliana? If you're determined to follow through on this fool errand she must be shown."

The other woman sighed deeply and nodded, "Very well, help me get her on her feet."

With all the gentleness of an angry bear, Cassandra hefted Jassaren to her feet and slung one of her arms –the one _without_ a disturbing green mark on it- around her neck. Leliana bent and unshackled her ankles, tossing them primly aside. Jassaren realized for the first time that she was completely _filthy_. Her clothing was torn in numerous places, revealing scrapped and purpled skin beneath. Various types of slime and muck, combined with a hearty helping of good old-fashioned dirt, covered her nearly from head to toe. All of her many weapons had been meticulously removed from her body along with her lockpicks, potions and purse. _Lovely, just lovely_.

Between the two women, they managed to half drag her through a series of rounded tunnels and out a side door. Icy wind and sunlight slapped her in the face and she nearly passed out again. A cloak was thrown begrudgingly over her and Cassandra shook her impatiently but not harshly.

"_Look_," she barked and Jassaren blinked away tears as the sunlight settled like needles in her eyes. She followed the woman's pointing finger and gasped. It looked like someone had punched a greasy green hole in the sky.

"Holy shit," she murmured. "What _is_ that?"

"As far as we can tell, the explosion ripped a hole in the very fade it's self." Leliana whispered.

Jassaren shook her head, unable to tear her eyes away from the sinister hole in the sky as it swirled and wavered. It was actually kind of pretty, in a completely unnatural and terrifying way.

"Explosion, what explosion?" She asked. Every answer they gave her only brought on more questions and confusion. Why couldn't she _remember_?

Cassandra gave her a side long look. Some of the fire had gone out of her, and her expression was more pensive, unsure, and not _quite_ so accusatory.

"The explosion that destroyed the Temple, killing everyone within. You were the only survivor."

Jassaren's knees, already weak, turned to jelly and the warrior woman caught just before she collapsed into the snow. She felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. She probably could have given two shits less about most of the people in that building, but she wasn't so callous as to think plenty of good, innocent people had also suffered terribly. She'd been in those rooms, she'd seen all those people. There had been _hundreds_ of them, women, children -from the highest ranks of the Chantry, Mages, and Templars, to the lowliest servants.

"What- how?"

_Dane_. _Dane was there. Maybe he got out, maybe he's sticking to the woods, biding his time-_

Jassaren didn't have many friends. In her line of work it was smarter not to have any at all, but Dane had been her closest ally, her confidant. The only one of Briala's people as disillusioned with the Ambassador's supposed 'cause' as she was.

"We don't know, some sort of spell gone wrong." Cassandra continued. Her voice was icy, numbed like Jassaren's fingers and the tips of her pointed ears. "But demons are pouring through tears in the Fade. We've cause to believe that your mark may be able to seal these Rifts."

Jassaren sensed this was as close as the contemptuous woman was going to get to asking her for her help. She pulled herself together, feeling very much like she'd fallen asleep and woken up to a world tilted ass end up. Her feet steadied beneath her and she pushed away, taking a few stumbling steps in the snow and then a few more until she'd walked down a slight path with the two women trailing behind her.

"Maker-" she breathed in horror as the remains of the Temple of Sacred Ashes came into view. It was miles in the distance, but from where she stood she should have been able to catch the glint of its six towers and the snapping of its bright banners. Instead there was only a smoldering black smear across snow covered mountains, a stream of green magic jutting from it like a terrible standard.

Leliana came to her side, "Our men are dying up there, trying to hold the demons at bay. The rift is growing, and the more it grows, the more certain your death becomes."

Jassaren met her stare for stare. "So what you're saying is… I have no choice but to help you."

The woman smirked, it was not a pleasant expression, and her eyes fixed on the Breech, "If you do this, I will ensure that you receive a fair trial."

Jassaren bristled, "You want me to risk my life and all you can offer in return is a fair trial for a crime I didn't commit?"

Cassandra sighed, "What choice do you have? What choice do any of us have? If you are truly innocent, you will help us banish this… this… _evil_. Doing so would go a long way in your favor." She said this begrudgingly, as though she'd just like to behead Jassaren and be done with it.

Jassaren sighed, her mind racing as she tried to think of some way around the madness, tried to reorient the world back on its proper axis. Her hand burned and the hole in the sky crackled ominously, making the ground tremble, and reminding her that running away would only ensure a certain death –if what they said was true. Basically, she was screwed.

"Alright, but can I bloody change first?"

* * *

><p><em>Maker, if you do actually exist, get me out of this alive and I promise to say the Chant every single day for the rest of my life. Oh, and no more snow. <em>_**Please **__no more snow._

Cassandra and Leliana, armed with bow, blade, and shield, crested the rise before her and waited impatiently for her to catch up. They'd been hiking for what felt like days, every bruise and scrape screaming in protest, and she'd seriously considered just throwing herself off the mountainside on more than one occasion.

_Don't worry about it guys, I just have this mark thing on my hand that is slowly killing me. No big deal. _

When she was within arm's length, Cassandra pulled her roughly forward and pointed down. "The first of the lesser fade Rifts," she said.

Jassaren swallowed, taking in the shimmering tear and the demons and the soldiers and trying to come to terms with herself. It wasn't exactly the best moment for an existential crisis but she'd had a rough day.

"She needs a weapon," Leliana remarked grimly.

"Absolutely not," Cassandra growled.

"We can't just expect her to go down there unarmed, Cassandra. And neither you nor I can ensure her safety. If this mark _can_ seal the Rifts, it's worth the risk."

"Prisoner," Cassandra barked at her as though Jassaren hadn't been standing there awkwardly between them the whole time. "Do you have any skill with weapons?"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. They both knew they'd pulled more than a dozen blades off her.

"I've some skill with a knife." She said trying not to sound sarcastic and failing. "Though how that translates to killing _demons_-"

"They die just the same as anything else," Leliana said and shifted her cloak to thrust her two long daggers at her hilt first. Jassaren resisted the urge to kiss each blade. They were her favorite knives and would have cost her a fortune to replace… if she hadn't stolen them in the first place.

"We must hurry," she said as Jassaren strapped her scabbard across her back and belted it at her waist. The clothes they'd provided for her were well made, leather and cloth of fine quality, but too big on her and she tugged at her jacket uncomfortably. She supposed she had bigger problems than the back of her coat rucking up.

They made their way down the hill as Jassaren tried not to consider her odds of survival. If the demons didn't kill her, the stupid mark would. So yeah, not good odds.

Cassandra caught her by the shoulder once they reached level ground. "If you try to run, or try to betray us, I _will_ kill you," she spat into her face. This time Jassaren couldn't help her eye roll of exasperation.

"Yeah, I get it, 'do as we say or we'll chop your head off'. Can we go see if this stupid thing works now?" she waved her glowing hand in front of the woman and Cassandra flinched away from her with a noise of disgust.

"Hurry!" Leliana barked ahead of them, and Jassaren drew her knives. This was going to seriously suck.

Cassandra hefted her shield and drew her sword and Leliana nocked an arrow. The two women exchanged a grim nod and they pressed forward, rounding a corner to enter the fray.

Jassaren wasn't exactly a stranger to combat. She'd been doing Briala's dirty work for years, but full out battle wasn't precisely her forte. She was used to leaping out of the shadows and dealing quick, deadly blows. Sometimes there was a scuffle but usually there wasn't. So when the first demon they encountered, a horrendous thing in filthy robes and rotting skin, made a beeline straight for her, Jassaren froze like piss on a cold day.

"Move!" Cassandra shouted, already engaged with another creature that appeared to be made of green energy and scraps of flesh. Behind her, Leliana was distracted by her own battles, firing arrows at another demon as it bore down on a bald-headed elven mage who Jassaren had only just noticed. She was a little distracted.

She barely managed to duck out of the way as vicious talons descended. Spinning on one heel, she lashed out with her knives, relying now on pure instinct. The blades met strange flesh and hot, black blood washed over her hands, strangely pleasant against the cold. The creature screamed in agony and she grinned as she crouched on the ground. If the damn things could bleed, then they could die, too.

The creature was clumsy and clearly not very intelligent as it spun in slow circles, searching for her. Still grinning, she leapt forward to bury her daggers in the creature's neck with a shout. It collapsed in a heap of rags, its body disintegrating into dust that was immediately swept up by the wind.

"Oh gross!" She complained loudly, "I got some in my bloody mouth." She withdrew her daggers and spat repeatedly, swiping at her mouth in disgust.

"Quickly!" Leliana cried, ignoring Jassaren's blight completely as the last of the demons fell beneath Cassandra's sword. The elven mage, a male with serious gray eyes, hurried forward and yanked her toward the Rift without so much as a 'howdy-do,' then thrust her hand into it.

Pain shot through Jassaren and she cried out. But something inside her tugged in recognition, calling for her focus and attention like an insistent poke in her side. She focused on it, strained toward it, and a moment later it was over. The Rift sealed and the pain in her hand lessened considerably, back to a dull and annoying ache.

"Fascinating," the elf beside her said, lowering her arm but maintaining his grip on her hand. He studied the mark imprinted there with unadulterated awe.

"Uh, yeah, sure. Really fascinating." She said and he looked up at her as though he were surprised the hand was actually attached to a living, breathing creature. He released her and stepped back.

"My apologies." He said, not sounding very apologetic.

"Maker preserve us," Cassandra breathed, looking only slightly the worse for wear. They were all covered in varying degrees of black demon gunk, but otherwise uninjured.

"Good thing you showed up when you did," a dwarven man said, emerging from behind a piece of rubble with a strange crossbow slung over one shoulder, "Bianca and I were getting tired of doing all the work." His chest, hairy and broad, was partially bare and his nose had been broken at least three times. Jassaren took in his smirk and arrogant swagger and immediately decided she liked him.

The dwarf looked her over and seemed to come to a similar conclusion. He smiled at her. "I'm Varric," he bowed with mocking exaggeration, "Charming demon fighter by day, eloquent novel writer by night."

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. Jassaren thought she was quite good at it. Very convincing.

"And occasional unwelcome guest," Varric added, winking wickedly at Cassandra who only rolled her eyes impatiently.

"Leliana and I will scout ahead then we must move on, the Breech is close."

"A moment, Seeker," the eleven mage said and drew the woman aside, Leliana followed after them and they entered a hurried discussion that Jassaren was positive centered heavily on _her_.

Jassaren studied Cassandra with new eyes. She'd never met a Seeker of Truth before. She wasn't sure what she would have expected, but she was pretty sure Cassandra wasn't it.

"She's technically not a member of the order anymore," Varric supplied, obviously reading her thoughts.

"Who is she?" Jassaren asked, "Who are _any _of them."

"I suppose they didn't take the time to properly explain any of this shit," he waved a hand at the looming hole in the sky which became even more unsettling the closer they got. "Cassandra is the kind to stab first and ask questions later."

"Yeah," she agreed dully, "I noticed."

"She was the Divine's Left Hand, and Leliana her Right."

Jassaren's eye brows shot up in surprise. Those were some pretty damn important titles. "Why weren't they at the conclave?"

Varric shrugged. "Their duties must have taken them elsewhere during the discourse. They're tools of the Divine, not her bodyguards, and they aren't with her as often as you might think."

Jassaren shook her head, at a loss.

"A lot to take in, huh?" Varric said, his voice sympathetic. At least someone seemed willing to believe she wasn't some crazy sky punching lunatic.

"You have _no_ idea." She grumbled, flexing her hand where the mark burned. "Who's the elf?"

Varric sighed, resting his impressive crossbow, which she'd gathered was named Bianca, on the ground and leaning on it. "His name is Solas, an Apostate mage. Well, I suppose all mages are Apostates now, but he was one before all the Circles fell. Showed up after the explosion wanting to help." He looked at her hand uneasily then met her eyes, "Kept that mark from killing you right away and helped to contain some of the rifts so even Cassandra agreed to let him help. Much to everyone else's surprise."

"What are _you_ doing here," she pressed, leaning on a nearby rock. The events of the last few hours were catching up with her and she could feel herself trembling under the physical strain. She felt like she'd never be warm again.

Varric sobered a bit and his eyes darkened in anger. "Cassandra extended me a… _mandatory_ invitation."

Jassaren smirked."You mean she kidnapped you."

"Pretty much," he said with another long sigh. "Then I got caught up in this shit storm. Figures."

"But why? Kidnap you I mean."

"It's a _long_ story, and it looks like our presence is being formally requested," he said and Jassaren looked up to see Cassandra waving them over impatiently.

"No rest for the wicked," Varric said dryly and Jassaren trudged after him, processing all her new found information critically.

She didn't think she could trust Cassandra not to drag her before the Chantry when this was all over. Assuming she survived of course. The Chantry was pretty well known for treating elves like dirt, and she didn't believe for a second they'd treat her fairly, not with a temple full of people blown to bits. And there was always the chance that Cassandra would just chop her head off outright, which wasn't exactly a better option. She'd helped them close this Breech… _thing, _she decided, and then she was getting as far away from this whole mess as fast as she possibly could.

* * *

><p>"Careful," Solas said and gripped Jassaren's elbow, helping her over the ruins of the once glittering gates of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. She was fading fast and the lovely garden of scorched bodies was seriously not helping. She'd been sick twice on their way through the blasted outer courtyard, much to Cassandra's displeasure.<p>

"Thanks," she said breathlessly. She was dizzy and unsteady on her feet. The Mage held her up gently for a moment more, and then released her with only faint nod in recognition. He didn't have the vallaslin, she noticed as he paced away from her, but he certainly didn't seem like any city elf _she'd_ ever met. He looked like a vagabond, to be honest, but there was something about his walk and stature that hinted at something more. Jassaren was good at reading people, her job required it, but she couldn't put her finger on the strange Apostate. It was just as well, magic made her deeply uncomfortable. It just figured she have some strange version of it burned into her hand.

Leliana appeared from around the remains of the castle's walls, out of breath and anxious, "Cullen is just ahead with a squad, their holding them off but we need _her_ to close another Rift before we can reach the Breech itself.

Cassandra cursed.

"Yeah, hi, I have a name you know," Jassaren said bracing her hands on her knees as she tried desperately to catch her breath and stop her head from spinning.

"I apologize, Jassaren," Leliana said primly and lightly pulled on her arm, urging her up and forward, "But we _must_ hurry, we are nearly there."

"Right, and then I just have to close a huge hole in the sky."

Leliana managed a faint smile, "Precisely."

They rushed through the hollowed out shell of the castle and Jassaren developed a form of tunnel vison that focused only on the shinning cap of Solas's bald head. Things crunched beneath her boots and she refused to imagine that they might be the bones of those who had died within, but Varric's pale face told her the sentiment was wasted. Bile rose in her throat, but she had nothing left in her stomach to vomit and so she swallowed and stumbled on.

Down a flight of steps and into a clearing that had once been the main cathedral of the Temple, and they halted. A Fade rift waited for them along with a handful of demons like the worst gift imaginable. Several men, heavily armored and determined, cut the creatures down one by one. But even as their rag tag group watched briefly from above, more demons stepped from the Fade.

"She's in no shape to fight," Cassandra remarked and Leliana nodded.

"I know, we'll leave Varric to guard her and she can close the rift when we've got things under control."

"I've got her covered Seeker," Varric told Cassandra brusquely when she turned to glare at him contemptuously, "Go get those monsters under control."

Leliana steered Cassandra away and Solas followed after them with his glowing staff in hand. He sparred her a brief backward glance and she resisted the urge to throw him a mocking wave of farewell. Mostly because her arms didn't appear to be working. Jassaren wavered dangerously as the world tilted first one way, and then the other.

"Whoah now!" Varric cried and took her arm firmly in his. "Here, sit down behind this pillar, there you go." His voice was soft, worried almost.

Jassaren collapsed against the cool stone and closed her eyes, willing herself to remain conscious. Time seemed to slip by, the sounds of battle a disturbing lullaby, when someone pulled her into their arms like a child.

"Is she alive," someone demanded.

"Yes, she's breathing," said a deep, unfamiliar voice. "Just fainted I think."

"Quick, give her this; we need her to close the Rift before more come through."

Her mouth was forcefully opened and a cool stream of liquid ran down her throat. It tasted _awful_. She came to with a start, sputtering and coughing, swinging her arms wildly as something _hot_ burned in her gut. Her fist connected with something solid and she knocked her head against something that rang in her ears unpleasantly. Armor, she realized as reality came back into focus. The arms around her tightened roughly to keep her from falling and they somehow managed to irritate _every single one_ of her scrapes and bruises.

"Maker's balls," Jassaren groaned, "Just let me die already." She was conscious again, but in no less pain. Her hand, arm, and shoulder were burning steadily, the mark pulsing through her blood like poison and she knew that if the burning sensation reached her heart, it was over.

"Afraid you can't die just yet," said the same male voice and she looked up into a handsome, serious face. His eyes were a light sort of golden brown and they studied her with something akin to disappointment. He had a scar on one lip and black demon blood smeared across one chiseled cheek. He had a swelling bruise near his left eye that looked very fresh."We need you to close this Rift first."

Jassaren couldn't tell if he was joking or not. She thought maybe not.

"Set her down Cullen," Cassandra commanded, and the man –Cullen- did so carefully. She wobbled and he steadied her with a hand briefly on her waist. Leliana guided her forward and Solas came at her, reaching for her hand. Tired of being manhandled and bossed around like chattel, she shoved past him _hard_. The mage stumbled wildly but managed to catch himself before falling -a pity- with a look of shock on his face.

"I'll bloody do it myself," she spat at him. With as much bravado as she could muster, she tugged on those strange illusive strings inside her and reached for the Rift. The same pain, the same connection, but this time she managed to hang onto the sensation of _closing_ a little better. _And _she managed not to scream this time, though she bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. The edges of the Rift snapped together with a crash like thunder rumbling in a valley, and she turned to glare in challenge at the people behind her.

Varric looked amused, Leliana impressed, Cassandra angry, and Solas was as hard to read as ever. Cullen was studying her, apparently trying to come to some deep conclusion. Whatever, let them all think what they liked. As soon as this was done, she was gone.

"Let's close this damn Breech then," Jassaren said, still dizzy, still miserable, but driven now by anger. She fixed them all with a daring glare and then stamped off in the direction of the eerie green funnel that poured like water from the sky.

"Well," she heard Leliana remark behind her, "She's certainly got _spirit_."

"And a mean left hook," Cullen replied dryly.

_Well that explains the bruise and why my knuckles hurt. _Jassaren smiled, pleased with herself.

* * *

><p>"You need to open it," Solas told Jassaren as he came to squat beside her. His gaze was turned to the Rift immediately beneath the Breech and its light reflect strangely in his eyes, like oil on water. This Rift looked different than the others. Condensed and swirling madly which meant, apparently, that it was closed. For the moment at least.<p>

They'd set up a sort of 'base camp' for a brief respite, which pretty much consisted of a small campfire and the upended barrel she was sitting on while Leliana offered her bits of bread and water.

"Yeah, sure, I know _exactly_ how to do that." She sneered and the elf frowned at her in disapproval. She tugged her layers of cloaks –she'd been provided with several- up around her throat, uncomfortable under his stare despite all her bravado.

"You just have to focus. You were able to close the Rifts with little to no direction, I imagine opening one should be something similar."

"You imagine, meaning you have no idea." She shot back.

She was cranky, and tired, and in pain, and beyond sick of people talking circles around her like either she wasn't even there or so completely beneath them she wasn't even worth addressing.

Solas sighed deeply and seemed to come to some sort of conclusion as he rocked back on his heels. "I understand how very… _confusing_ this must be to you. You're no mage, and the pull of the Fade must be entirely foreign, but I have faith that you _can _do this." His voice was intense, sincere, and Jassaren felt her cheeks warm despite herself. Partially in shame, but also because, well, she wasn't used to people needing her or believing in her.

"And you think closing the Breech will stop this _thing," _she presented her glowing hand to him from beneath the bundle of cloaks, "from killing me?" She had meant to sound brusque, aloof maybe, but her voice had wobbled into fear. Solas's eyes softened and he cupped her palm between both of his with a gentle sort of smile that, while comforting, made her feel like an unruly and emotional child.

"We must hope so," he said quietly and squeezed her hand in a surprising display or reassurance. He rose and left her then just as Leliana returned with some hot broth mixed with strong herbs.

"You have been very brave," the woman remarked as Jassaren sipped tentatively at the contents. It was very hot but she didn't mind, the burn on her tongue distracted from the burn coursing through her shoulder. She snorted a little, and ducked her head.

"You mean obstinate."

Leliana chuckled a bit and put a hesitant hand on her shoulder. Jassaren looked up and met her eye, "When this is over, whether you are able to close this breech or not, I will make sure no harm comes to you from the Chantry…" she glanced up and at the Seekers back as the other woman addressed 'Commander' Cullen, "And Cassandra if necessary."

Jassaren studied her face intently for a long, long moment, and concluded that she meant what she said. She only hoped that she would follow through.

When she'd finished her broth, she told Cassandra she was ready, and the remaining soldiers –grim faced men and women in blood stained and battered armor- moved into place. Solas helped her to her feet and he guided her down a flight of steps. As they neared the Rift, strange voices echoed.

_"Why are you doing this!"_ A disembodied voice demanded.

"That's Divine Justinia!" Cassandra shouted in alarm.

_"Someone please help!"_

Solas pushed them on, even though Jassaren's nerve was already almost failing her. He must have sensed her reluctance because his hand tightened on her arm. Screams, strangely familiar and haunting, echoed over and _over_ again.

Dark figures danced in the light of the fade Rift like an awful parody of shadow puppets. They took on shape, condensing into distinct figures.

_"I will bring a new age, a better age. The time of your God is over. With you as sacrifice, I will claim my rightful seat as the only God of Thedas." The creature spoke and its voice was like children screaming and all her worst nightmares combined. She cowered against the wall, fear freezing her blood and numbing her limbs." _A new voice said and it's utterance drew a raw shiver of fear up her spine.

"Who is that!" Cassandra demanded of Solas, of Jassaren, "What is this new magic?"

Solas frowned, "They are echoes of what happened here. Of whatever ever transpired."

Jassaren gasped in shock, interrupting Cassandra's next question, as another shadowy figure emerged that looked unsettlingly _just_ like her. Everyone paused as the scene played out brokenly, shadow Jassaren fell, then she drew her knives, and then she was screaming, screaming , _screaming. _

Cassandra was shaking her, drawing her out of her stupor and she realized the scream she'd heard was her own and abruptly stopped, her throat raw.

"You were with the Divine! What was that thing! What was happening?"

"I don't know!" Jassaren yelled, in danger of vomiting up the broth and bread she'd just eaten. Every time she tried to focus on the flashes of images in her brain they skidded further and further away from her like the ghosts of a dream.

"I can't remember!" She half sobbed, collapsing in on herself.

"Enough!" Solas said gruffly and yanked the Seeker roughly away.

"We must end this here; there will be time enough for discussion later."

He took Jassaren by the shoulders and forced her to look at him. She tried to calm her breathing, to gather herself, but it was too much. Just too Gods damned _much_.

"You can do this Jassaren," he said firmly. "I know you can do this."

"Yeah," Varric commented, appearing at her side, "Let's close this stupid thing and then you and I can share a nice, _strong_ drink."

She drew in two more deep breaths and nodded at them both. Solas gave her shoulders another squeeze and Varric patted her arm awkwardly. They turned, Cassandra already bellow with her back turned, and completed their journey.

At last, Jassaren stood directly beneath the rift and stared up, up, and up. Solas released her and stepped away, but she barely noticed. Through the massive hole she saw another sky, another world, which swirled with pinks and purples. It was rather… beautiful, actually. Her hand pulsed, but the pain was nearly gone, as though the mark had found its home and was calmer. As if in a dream she reached up and spread her fingers wide, seeing the world between them. Relief this time, as though the Rift were drawing poison from a wound. She sighed and closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of the pain leaving her body by degrees, until it was completely gone and she was free.

The impact of her knees hitting the earth jarred her back into reality and she met Solas's wondering stare with one of her own

"I told you that you could do it," he said, clearly pleased, and maybe even the tiniest bit surprised. He was a pretty good bluffer.

Jassaren smiled at him dreamily and then promptly passed out. This time, she welcomed the darkness with open arms.


End file.
